


This Song (Has Nothing Tricky About It)

by montgomeryscott



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Character Death, Implied Relationships, Mentions of Cancer, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal), alana bloom is whipped for her gf, implied Hannigram, implied preller if you really squint, sugar daddy hannibal near the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montgomeryscott/pseuds/montgomeryscott
Summary: We all know that Hannibal's favorite instrument is the harpsichord, but what about the other characters?This is a collection of one-shots about some of the characters in Hannibal and what instruments I think they can play.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Smile Like You Mean It

Hannibal saw it first. He was at Will’s house, helping him with some much needed cleaning. Will had brought it up in their session again today, the clutter. He first mentioned it nearly a month ago and had only begun going through the mess of memories when Hannibal offered to assist. On the drive to Wolf Trap Hannibal thought about the metaphorical implications of Will being unwilling to clean the repressed clutter of his past without the help of a friend, but Will seemed even tenser than usual, if that was even possible, so Hannibal filed it away to bring up at a later time. 

“It’s a little overwhelming,” Will warned, hesitating at the front door. Hannibal looked at him patiently and made some quip about most likely having seen much worse. Then Will opened the door and suddenly the good doctor was bombarded by wet noses and wagging tails. As he stooped to greet the dogs, noting the pack had gained another sibling since the last time he’d been here, Hannibal wondered if he would ever get used to that.

Once the two began cleaning, Will quickly realized that he couldn’t have asked for a better helper. He watched in awe as his friend took pieces of junk out of the two lowest drawers in Will’s dresser and put them in neat, organized piles on the kitchen table. Hannibal had knocked out half a dresser full of mostly worthless crap in less than 10 minutes and had moved on to the hallway closet while Will was just finishing up a single kitchen cabinet. 

“Thanks again for doing this,” said Will, gathering up a couple small frames he never used and placing them in Hannibal’s ‘wood’ pile. “But you can leave whenever you want, I wouldn’t want to keep you-”

“From what?” Hannibal appeared back in the kitchen, putting some rusty fishing hooks in a small tin can in the ‘metal’ pile. “My empty household? I assure you, Will, my bed would be just as happy to have me at midnight as it would any other time of night.”

“I meant from dinner, you asshole,” Will’s tone was not mean, and although he rolled his eyes Hannibal saw the left corner of his mouth twitch. “But alright, point taken.”

Hannibal had nearly forgotten they came here straight from his own office. It was unlike him to forget about dinner. He thought about voicing his appreciation of Will’s thoughtfulness, but Will had closed the cabinet and was turning to say something.

“Alright, I think I’m done here. How’s that closet looking?”

“Still not ideal, yet preferable to how it was when I began.”

“I’ll take that,” Will said. He glanced at the ceiling and Hannibal watched all of his micro-expressions. Frustration, fear, weariness, all flashed over his patient’s face as he sighed, “I guess I’ll get started on the attic. Would you mind joining me up there when you’re done with the closet?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Slipping past Hannibal into the hallway, Will climbed the stairs to the left of the closet. Once on the second floor, Hannibal could hear the dry creak of a wooden ladder being forcefully unfolded from the ceiling. He could already smell the old pink insulation. 

The closet didn’t take too long to finish. A stray safety pin poked a surprisingly deep hole in Hannibal’s right index finger, so after carefully closing the pin he put on one of the bandaids Will had placed on the counter before the cleaning started. Will was worried about all the fish hooks he had floating around. With his newly bandaged finger Hannibal went to the second floor and climbed the ladder leading to the attic. 

It was a little overwhelming, Hannibal had to admit to himself. But not the clutter, nor the surprisingly intense heat.

Will was standing in the middle of his attic, not doing any cleaning. Not doing anything at all, really. His eyes were flicking from thing to thing and his breathing was heightened, sweat plastering dark curls onto his forehead. He looked lost.

“Will.”

Deep blue eyes shot up to meet Hannibal’s own, and Will let out a shuddering breath.

“Hey. Sorry, I, uh, haven’t made much progress, I…” He trailed off.

“It’s alright, Will. You need to work at your own pace,” Hannibal stepped towards the other man, the floor, or ceiling, he supposed, creaking under his feet. “But if you don’t do this now, you never w-”

“I know.” Will’s tone was blunt.

“Alright, then. How about I start in that far left corner, and you start in the right?”

“Sounds good.” After letting out another breath, this one much more stable, Will started towards the right-hand corner of the attic. “And hey, Hannibal?”

Hannibal paused.

“Take off your jacket, at least. You’re gonna get heatstroke.” 

Hannibal chuckled quietly and complied, folding his jacket and placing it on whatever surface was the least covered in dust. After that the two cleaned the attic in comfortable silence, broken only by Hannibal occasionally asking Will if he wanted to keep this or that. The answer was always no.

Hannibal found it stuffed between an old rocking horse and a pile of thick leather-bound bibles. He carefully pushed the bibles away, fighting the urge to proclaim something about God or religion and instead choosing to take the item in his hands.

It was a violin.

It was old and damaged, but there was no mistaking what it was. There were cracks in the wood, long and deep, not even hidden by the thick blanket of dust that lay on top. It was missing a bridge. Two of the strings, the D and E, Hannibal noted, were missing, while the A string was snapped clean in half, poking up at the sky like the antenna of a massive insect. The G string, while still there and intact, looked extremely brittle and was dry to the touch. 

Even under the dust and age Hannibal could tell it the wood was rich, warm and brown. Or used to be. If he had to guess, Hannibal would say this instrument was over 90 years old.  
“Did you find some gold bars over there?” Will’s voice, though muffled by the insulated stuffiness of the room, was laced with amusement. “Or diamonds? I heard you stop. If you found diamonds you have to tell me, or else I’ll…”

Will trailed off when Hannibal turned around, still holding the violin as gently as possible. He blinked.

“Oh.”

“You never mentioned you played violin, Will.” Hannibal wasn’t being accusatory; in fact, his voice had taken on an unguarded warmth that Will didn’t hear very often. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t, really,” Stumbling over his words while stumbling over the stuff that lay discarded on the attic floor, Will made his way towards Hannibal. “I mean, I do play that, but I don’t play the violin.”

“I don’t quite follow.”

“It’s a fiddle.” Will finally reached the other man, standing startlingly close while he gazed down at the aged instrument still in Hannibal’s hands. “I play the fiddle. I played it.”

“I see.” The older man had to fight to keep his look neutral as Will’s hands brushed against his own, reaching to take the vi… the fiddle. He quickly swallowed his slight shock at incorrectly identifying an instrument before looking up at Will. He saw memories cloud the other man’s eyes as he looked at the fiddle. Will was clearly conflicted, as although Hannibal could see the ghost of a smile on Will’s lips, his slightly furrowed brow made his patient look concerned, almost pained. “Would you like to keep it?”

It took awhile for Will to answer, “No. It’s way past the point of repair, it’s basically junk at this point.”

“What about its… sentimental value?” 

“Sentimental value?” Will snorted, twisting to set the fiddle down on a nearby box. Although it was ‘basically junk’, according to Will, Hannibal noted that Will was still handling the instrument quite carefully. “There’s not a whole lot of sentimental value. It was my uncle’s and he passed it down to me. That’s it. It’s not connected to any crazy story.”

“Did he teach you to play?” Asked Hannibal, “Your uncle?” He had gone back to cleaning his corner but was doing so on autopilot. He was much more interested in whatever he had just discovered and wherever this was going.

“Yeah, Uncle Pete. He used to be in a band, you know, back in Louisiana,” Will talked as he worked, “Dad was real busy at that time so sometimes I stayed with Pete. Sometimes it was just for a night, sometimes it was for a few days. During the summer Pete saw I wasn’t doing much besides fishing…” Will chuckled wryly. “One day he just comes up to me and says, ‘Will, you gotta find another hobby. I’m happy you found your calling, but sometimes I worry you’re gonna sprout gills and swim right up the Mississippi River.’”

Hannibal listened contentedly, allowing himself a small smile as he heard the New Orleanian inflections Will tried so hard to swallow down begin to creep to the surface. 

“So he taught me to play the fiddle. And, uh… yeah. That’s it. Sorry it doesn’t have a dramatic backstory, I’m sure you’re disappointed.” 

“Quite the opposite,” Hannibal mused, “It’s refreshing to learn about an aspect of your life that isn’t shrouded in misery or mystery. Sweet, even.”

“Oh.” 

Neither man had much to say after that. The attic took about an hour and a half to finish, but they both knew it wouldn’t have even gotten done if Hannibal wasn’t there. The stuff from the attic was now in Will’s shed. He had wanted to take it to the dump right away, but Hannibal gently reminded him that the dump was most likely closed. 

Hannibal had kept an eye on the old fiddle as they stuffed the attic junk into cardboard boxes and trash bags. He hadn’t seen him do it, but Will had moved it off of the box it was laying on and propped it up against a far wall. They ended up finding the bow, but it was snapped in half and the hair was shedding away so Will opted to throw it out. 

As Hannibal was readying to leave he saw his patient sitting in one of the living room chairs. He had seemingly retrieved the fiddle from the attic and was now holding it again, left hand gripping the neck while the right hand cupped the lower bout. Although he looked to be in deep thought, Will’s head snapped up as Hannibal walked over and sat to face him.

“Feeling conflicted, Will?”

“Why, Dr. Lecter, it’s,” Will twisted to look at the clock behind him, “2:14 in the morning. A little late for a therapy session, don’t you think?”

“In my professional opinion, it's never too late, nor too early, to explore the mind of Will Graham.”

“Hannibal, seriously,” Will’s voice softened, “You can go home. I’m sure you’re tired, and I doubt you have the energy to listen to me ramble anymore tonight.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Will, that I might enjoy simply talking with you?”

For a moment Hannibal thought Will was going to retaliate. If it hadn’t been 2:14 in the morning and if he hadn’t just finished a chore that was both physically and emotionally exhausting, Will probably would have. He instead sighed and slumped in his chair, looking back down at the fiddle.

“Yeah. I am conflicted.”

“I thought you said it was-”

“Don’t try using my words back on me, I know I said it was junk,” Will huffed under his breath, “Prick.”

“I apologize, that was immature of me.”

“Mm. It’s fine.”

“Can you still play?”

“Can- what?”

“I don’t enjoy repeating myself, Will.”

“Right, right, I just didn’t expect that,” Hannibal was watching him expectantly, eyes glittering as they do when he’s particularly interested in something. “I probably could. I have a pretty great memory. If I couldn’t, it probably wouldn’t take me long to re-learn.”

“You picked it up quickly.”

“Yeah, I did. Uncle Pete said it took me half as long to learn it as he took, and I’d say I could also play twice as fast.” As Will looked fondly down at the instrument, Hannibal became less convinced that it would end up in the shed, let alone the dump.

“How do you hold it?” asked Hannibal.

“I’m a little surprised you don’t play the violin,” Will chuckled, sitting up straighter to put his chin on the rest, holding the neck with his left hand and looking awkward. “You seem like the type.”

“I believe you were adamant about the fact that the instrument you’re holding is a fiddle, not a violin.” Hannibal smiled when Will called him a smartass under his breath before continuing, “In any case, my attention is mainly held by the harpsichord and occasionally the piano.” Hannibal’s eyes flicked over Will curiously. “And that isn’t what I meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Show me how you hold it while playing,” said Hannibal, “Standing up. I want to see what you look like performing.”

Will blinked before slowly standing from his chair. Even in the low light it was easy to see his cheeks were stained a light pink. As he situated his chin under the chin rest yet again, he said, “I feel weird without a bow. It’s not gonna look right without a bow.”

“I see,” Hannibal stood, walking to Will’s fly-fishing desk and opening a drawer. It only took a few seconds of rummaging for him to find what he was looking for. As he walked back to Will he held out a wooden ruler. 

Wide blue eyes flickered from the ruler to Hannibal before settling back on the ruler. When Will swallowed Hannibal could hear his throat click. Will took the ruler with his right hand and held it so that his knuckles faced its far end. He hovered it over the fiddle, resting it lightly on the intact G string. His body shifted, parts of him going taunt and others relaxing until he himself looked like a carefully strung instrument. His eyes closed.

The air stood still for just a moment as Hannibal was struck with vision. He found himself in his study, not sitting in any of the chairs but leaning on his desk. Will was still in front of him but had a few notable changes. For one, he was holding a working fiddle and accompanying bow. It looked brand new, based on the untouched glossy wood and the way the strings gleamed brightly. Second, he was actually playing. The bow flew across the strings in patterns Hannibal couldn’t recognize, patterns Will seemed to know like a second language. Hannibal couldn’t name the song, seeing as it didn’t exist and was created using his own limited knowledge of fiddle tunes. Nevertheless it was light and fast and brassy, notes occasionally clashing in a way Hannibal would usually have found irritable but now found exciting.

The last change was on Will’s face. His eyes were open, gazing out of the window as he lost himself in his own performance.

And he was smiling.

The vision lasted less than a second. Hannibal watched as Will’s eyes snapped open, body unconsciously tensing back up. He let both arms fall.

“Why did you stop?”

“No real reason. Pete gave me one of his when I moved here, but I just got too busy to keep playing.”

“I meant just now.”

Will looked at Hannibal tiredly.

“Because it’s now 2:20 in the morning and I’m apparently exhausted enough to think that pretending to play a broken fiddle with a ruler would look anything other than idiotic,” Will put the ruler on his desk but kept holding the instrument.

“You looked ethereal.”

Will’s face was blank but his voice was slightly hoarse. “Go home, Hannibal.”

The therapist waited for a moment, then nodded, heading towards the door. As he opened it and stepped into the chilly Wolf Trap air, he felt Will tug on his arm.

“Wait, before you leave,” Will held the fiddle out toward Hannibal, “Could you put this in the shed on your way out?”

“Of course,” Taking the fiddle, Hannibal raised his eyebrows slightly, “Although I’d be lying if I said I’m not surprised at your decision.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Dr. Lecter,” Even though he was still clearly tired, Will gave the older man a small half-smile that did, surprisingly, reach his eyes before backing through the threshold and closing the door. 

‘Will Graham,’ Hannibal mused in his car after completing Will’s request, ‘If I thought I knew you any better than I do now, I’d be no better than a fool.’ On the journey from Virginia to Maryland, Hannibal tapped his bandaged finger against the steering wheel and thought about the sharp corners of Will’s mouth as he made a mental checklist of all the best instrumental stores in his area.


	2. Something In The Way She Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mason is away, Dr. Bloom learns something new about her girlfriend.

For the first time in many months the Verger mansion was quiet. Mason, accompanied by Cordell, was currently on a 5 day trip to Pensylvannia to discuss, and hopefully finalize, a potential business deal. Margot hadn’t even attempted feigning an interest in coming along. How could she pass up the opportunity to have the house to herself? Without her disgusting brother’s self-important monologues about being a total dickbag paired with a lack of Cordell pompously encouraging him, Margot thought the vast manor seemed almost peaceful.

She had been lounging in the living room reading a magazine when the sound of tires on gravel interrupted the new silence. Margot shot upright, flying off the couch and going to check the door in a matter of seconds.

On her way to the front door she panicked; could it be possible Mason suddenly decided to cancel his trip? She ground her teeth. He would do that, wouldn’t he. Give his sister a small taste of peace, of freedom, only to rip the rug out from under her feet. Margot guessed he would be laughing at her and flinging patronizing remarks before he even came inside.

Bastard.

When Margot opened the door, however, all her worries of Mason and his dickish antics melted away. Instead of Mason’s large, sleek, wheelchair-accessible SUV, she was greeted with the sight of a small red Chevy. She grinned.

“Miss Verger,” Alana Bloom stepped out of her car, shutting the door after quickly stabilizing herself on her cane, “It’s good to see you. Has Mason left already? I thought I’d come see him off.”

“Hi there, Dr. Bloom,” Margot dropped her smile and easily slipped into her stiff, professional persona. She knew what game they were playing. “No, unfortunately you just missed him. My dear brother left around 8:30.”

“Ah. How unfortunate.”

“Mm.” 

Alana had moved closer, digging her cane into the gravel with every other step, and ended up at the foot of the stairs looking up at Margot, who was standing three steps above. There was a pause. Neither woman knew who would break first.

“Well then, I suppose I should be going.”

“Oh, couldn’t you come inside for just a moment? You came all this way and you’re already here…”

“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your hospitality.” Margot couldn’t believe it, Alana was _actually _walking back to her car.__

____

__

“It’s no trouble! There’s extra coffee, I could pour you a cup.”

“I’m alright, I have to go back to work anyway.” Alana had put her hand on the door handle, looking genuinely like she was about to leave. In an act of surprising desperation, Margot blurted out the last excuse she could think of.

“My parents aren’t home!”

Alana stilled. Then blinked.

Then burst out laughing.

“For the love of God, Lana, just come inside!” Margot jumped down the three remaining steps and rushed to her girlfriend. After closing the car door and pausing to catch her breath, Alana allowed herself to be tugged towards the front of the house. She knew if Margot had been any stronger she would’ve just picked her up and carried her in.

Once in the house, Margot wasted no time cupping Alana’s face in her hands and pressing a long, sweet kiss onto her red lipsticked mouth. Then, after breaking away, the heiress to the Verger Meat Packing Dynasty immediately began to pout.

“I cannot _believe _you-”__

____

____

“Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t actually going to leave-”

“You were opening the door!”

“I was two seconds away from breaking.” 

Margot stared at her doubtfully. 

“I was! If you had let me get in the car I would’ve come right back out with my tail between my legs.” Alana slid her arms around the others’ waist, giving her a light kiss on the cheek and gently rubbing off the lipstick mark it left.

“... Alright,” Margot grumbled, “I believe you.”

“I really am sorry if I took it too far,” Alana’s voice had gotten a bit deeper now that she was being serious, and her eyes got soft in a way that only Margot had ever had the privilege of seeing.

“No, you didn’t,” Lacing her fingers in Alana’s, Margot grinned. “I just enjoy hearing you try so hard to appease me.” Alana chuckled as her lover winked and sauntered to the kitchen. “Go make yourself at home,” Margot called, “I’ll get us both some coffee. There actually is extra, I wasn’t bullshitting.”

As she settled onto one of the couches in the spacious living room, Alana realized she hadn’t stopped smiling since she arrived. It was the longest she’d smiled for a long time. The psychiatrist smiled even wider still as she remembered that for 4 more days she and Margot would be alone in this house, uninterrupted by Margot’s despicable brother or his creepy butler chef.

4 days alone with her girlfriend. 4 days alone with the woman she cared deeply for. 4 days alone with the woman she could clearly envision herself marrying, even though they had only met months ago. The rush of emotions that crashed through Alana as she thought all this was overwhelming.

And little did she know that just a few feet away, Margot Verger was being overwhelmed by those exact same thoughts.  
______

As the first two days without Mason came and went, Margot slowly realized what she had missed out on in her teenage years. She had been rebellious, sure, but that was mostly limited to listening to loud music and smoking the occasional joint. Margot never really had “young love”, never had someone to introduce to her parents, never snuck out to meet a new flame.

Thoughts of Margot’s high school days came to a head on her second night alone with Alana. The two were in Margot’s bedroom looking through old scrapbooks and photo albums, as well as the occasional school binder or notebook. Earlier that day Alana brought up what Margot had said when she first arrived, the whole, ‘My parents aren’t home,’ debacle. They laughed at that for a bit, Alana lightly teasing the taller woman to watch her blush and huff. 

“Where did that come from, anyway?” Alana asked, absently reaching up to tuck some hair behind Margot’s ear. “It was a little unexpected.”

“Mm, I don’t know. I remember seeing some of my friends use that excuse so they could get a guy to come over. It seemed to work for them, guess I thought it’d work for me.”

“Well, to be fair, it did.”

Margot rolled her eyes and went to change the conversation when she noticed Alana looking up at her strangely. “What?”

“Nothing, just…” The corners of her mouth quirked up. “I was just thinking about you in high school.”

“You didn’t know me in high school, dear.”

Alana snorted at that. “I know, I know. I guess I was thinking about what you were probably like.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t any different from the millions of other American teenagers in the 90’s.” Alana didn’t push any further after that, but Margot still saw curiosity glittering in her eyes. She sighed. “I’m sure I could find some old pictures, probably a photo album or two…”

“You wouldn’t mind?” How could she when Alana was looking up at her like that?

“Not at all. I haven’t taken a trip down memory lane in a while, anyway. Maybe we’ll find some old gems.”

And now they were here. Alana had helped carry some of the albums from upstairs down to her bedroom, noting that most had been stored in a small locked room on the second floor. It looked like it hadn’t been entered in quite a while, and when they gathered the last of the pictures Margot had locked the door behind her, face carefully blank.

Going through the old albums had been fun, surprisingly so, in Margot’s case. Alana cooed at Margot’s elementary and middle school photos. She had been a short girl with a mousy brown bob, usually wearing a stiff school uniform and sporting a defiant glare. The only downside was that Mason was present in many of the pictures. Margot had expected this, but it still felt nice whenever Alana silently folded a photo in half to exclude her brother and keep her at the center of attention.

The high school pictures were much different. Most of them came from scrapbooks or small boxes that Alana guessed Margot used to keep hidden in her room. She was also never alone, always surrounded by two or three friends. But the thing that shocked Alana the most was her girlfriend’s old style.

Margot used to be _punk _.__

____

____

The greyish blue eyes she’d come to love were framed by thick black streaks of eyeliner. Her hair was choppy and, in some of the pictures, was adorned by red or blue or purple streaks. When questioned, Margot admitted to having clip-in hair extensions that she would wear nearly everywhere except her own home. The fashion was exactly what one would expect from a defiant teenage girl in the 1990’s; combat boots, ripped jeans or short skirts, tank tops or band tees topped with an oversized leather jacket. She even had a spiked choker.

Alana was already extremely pleased to have seen what Margot looked like as a teenager, but the next photo she saw was the cherry on top. In the picture, Margot was on a small stage with two other girls, one of which was playing a bass guitar and the other seeming to scream into a microphone. 

To the left of both girls Margot was gripping a cherry red electric guitar and smirking.

“You were in a _band?! _” Alana let out an uncharacteristic squeal.__

____

____

“Oh God, yeah,” Margot cringed, flopping backwards onto the bed, “Only for a few months. Didn’t last long, we were atrocious.”

“What was its name?”

“Ughhh-”

“Come on, I have to know!”

Margot sighed, hiding her face in her hands before mumbling, ”Butcher Bitches.”

Alana seemed to be struggling between laughing out loud and fretting about whether that would hurt Margot’s feelings. It made Margot chuckle.

“It’s ok, the name is horrendous, I know.”

“Well, at least no one can say it’s off-brand.”

“For your information, the name was not my idea.” Margot pointed to the screaming girl in the middle, “Jess thought of it. I was actually the only one who didn’t like it, but the other three thought it’d be funny.”

“Three?”

“Yeah, you can’t see her here but Nicki was on drums, then there’s Jess and the girl on bass is Elle.”

“Did you guys write your own stuff?” Alana was still gushing over the photo, looking closely at how blue and red gelled lights bounced off of Margot and her guitar. 

“We tried but it was all shit, so we mostly stuck to covers.”  
“Aww, it couldn’t have been that-”

“Alana, my sweet darling dearest, it _was _that bad.”__

____

____

The two fell silent, continuing to leaf through pages of photos before Alana was struck with a thought.

“Can you still play?”

Margot stared at her. “... If I say yes are you gonna ask me to play something?”

“Perhaps.”

After considering her two options (1. Denying that she could still play, and 2. Telling the truth and getting this over with), Margot sighed, hopping off the bed and walking out of the room. It only took a few moments for her to come back, this time, to her girlfriend’s delight, with an acoustic guitar in tow. 

“I have a little place in the house where I keep some of my old shit,” Margot gestured to the guitar. It looked fairly old and was covered in dust, but the strings were intact and looked otherwise cared for. “Mason doesn’t know about it, thank God.”

“So,” Alana mused as Margot got back on the bed and began tuning the guitar, “Are you taking requests?” 

“Sure, but I can’t guarantee I’ll know whatever you pick.”

“Hmm… know any Beatles?”

Margot snorted, “Hon, I think every guitarist on the planet knows at least one Beatles song.” She sat contemplating for a second, ghosting her fingers over the strings as she struggled to remember the chords. Closing her eyes, Margot finally pressed her fingers down and began to lightly strum.

“ _Something in the way she moves… _”__

__Her voice was low and husky and Alana melted immediately. She sat entranced for the rest of the song, making sure to absorb and catalogue every little detail. The way Margot tried (and failed) to flick her hair out of her face, the way her voice broke on the higher notes, the way she sang loud enough for Alana to hear but quiet enough to make it seem like a secret, something that only the two of them were allowed to share. Which, Alana figured, wasn’t far from the truth._ _

__The two women were in their own bubble, separated not only from the rest of the world but from the rest of the house. For the remainder of the song they existed only in this room, only on this bed, with Margot gently going through the verses and Alana swaying to the beat with flushed cheeks._ _

__When the song finished they sat in silence, neither wanting to risk breaking whatever moment they just created. Margot put the guitar on the floor, propping it up against the wall beside the bed._ _

__“What, no encore?” Alana joked softly._ _

__“Not tonight,” Margot responded, waving her left hand in discomfort, “I haven’t played in a while and I lost my callouses-”_ _

__“Thank you,” Alana grabbed Margot’s hand and held it, “For sharing that. It… it means a lot to me.”_ _

__“Me too.”_ _

__After sharing a look the two women went back to going through Margot’s old photos for a bit. It wasn’t long before they noticed the time and decided to go to bed._ _

__“Hey, Margot?” Alana mumbled as she snuggled next to her lover._ _

__“Mm?”_ _

__“If you ever decide to bring the band back together-”_ _

__“Oh, God-”_ _

__“Or even become a solo artist-”_ _

__“Lana, please shut up-”_ _

__“Let me know, because I think I’d make a great groupie.”_ _

__“Alana Bloom,” Margot laughed, “Psychiatrist by day, rock ‘n roll groupie by night.”_ _

__“Exactly!”_ _

__After giggling and dozing happily together the two women fell into a deep sleep, and, for the first time in a long time, Alana Bloom and Margot Verger were content._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter to come out, but I hope you like it all the same. 
> 
> The title is a reference to the song Something by The Beatles because I am nothing if not basic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the first fic I've ever posted so I'm super nervous. Just to have full transparency, this series won't have a lot of plot since it's mostly an excuse to have characters interact and talk about music. I also know jack shit about the fiddle so I apologize if I got something wrong. 
> 
> The title of the whole series is a lyric from "This Song" by George Harrison. The lyrics have nothing to do with the fic but I liked it as a title (it's also a really good song lol). "Smile Like You Mean It" is a song by The Killers on the album Hot Fuss. The actual lyrics, yet again, don't have anything to do with this chapter, I just think the title fits alright. 
> 
> Thanks to @Eveldoer for beta reading, and for encouraging me to actually post this!! ily dude


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